


Nebulas Inside

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Bottom Derek, Crying During Sex, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, M/M, One Shot, Prostate Massage, Smut, Wolfing Out, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 09:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5661283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles edges Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nebulas Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Туманности внутри](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052639) by [JakeJensen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JakeJensen/pseuds/JakeJensen)



> This was originally written as a feel-better-fanmail for [Cursedtruth](http://cursedtruth.tumblr.com/), and I completely forgot all about it until there was talk of bottom!Derek and edging on my dash. And I felt it would be a crime for me not to share this thing with the world. Enjoy?
> 
> Unbetaed. Concrit welcome.

"No... no... no no no, Stiles, nooo," Derek whines, because it's torture. Pure and simple. And coming from someone who's been exposed to actual torture in his lifetime, even thinking such a thing during sex should be impossible.

But with Stiles, nothing is impossible, and when he pulls away again, fingers hot and glistening from where they've been jabbing perfectly against Derek's prostate for several minutes, he's just about ready to cry. Because he was SO close for the third... or was it fourth? ... time, and then. Then nothing.

"Goddammit, Stiles, don't!" he snarls, but it's too late. Stiles is sitting back again, and Derek is left empty and wanting and gasping for air he can't seem to get in right.

"Easy, big guy, hang in there. You know I'm just tryin' to make it good for you, right? It gets so much better like this, remember?"

Derek whimpers and squirms frantically, because, no, he definitely does not remember willingly going through this horror show before. But it's Stiles. Derek will literally do anything for Stiles, so it's happening.

"But... I need. I need... please, please, let me-"

"Not yet. One more time, stud, I know you can do it."

Derek would argue, but he cries out instead when Stiles rams into him again, fingers long and strong and perfectly on target, pace merciless and beautiful, and Derek's back arches off the bed and his thighs quiver, because there, yes, just there, almost, almost, almost-

Nothing.

This time Derek does sob, his whole body curling in on itself from sheer gut-searing disappointment. Stiles rubs his calves soothingly, gently keeping his legs open so he can't even get friction from there, his cock bobbing, red and dripping and fucking SORE, despite not having gotten even a single touch all night.

"Stiles," Derek slurs, tongue thick in his dry mouth, and lips swollen from his own frustrated biting at them. "Stiles, fuck, I need to come, you have to... please make me... please let me-"

"Don't worry, Der, it's happening, just hold on a sec."

A 'sec' could be a million years in Derek's world, and he feels a tear trickle down his cheek in the time it takes for Stiles to knee-walk in close, line himself up and finally, oh-god-fucking-finally pushing his long, slender cock inside, angling just right, exactly like his fingers, and pulling out carefully only once before slapping their bodies together so hard the sound is like a gunshot in Derek's ears. Not that he notices, too busy letting out a desperate wailing roar as Stiles finally gives Derek what he wants. What he needs.

And he was right. Of course Stiles was right. Because when Derek comes, it's like seeing the universe, stars and planets and nebulas on the inside of his scrunched-shut eyelids, and everything he's ever felt, every hurt, every brief moment of happiness, every worry, every non-stop cycle of guilt just rushes out of him, the gushes of white from his cock the least and simplest of what leaves his body.

He resurfaces to warm hands stroking his flanks gently, his legs still around Stiles' waist, but now loosely splayed, because what are muscles even. The sheets are ripped to shreds where he clutched at them, and when he manages to open his eyes, he realizes his hands still have claws. A loving tug on his jaw-fur alerts him to the fact that his face is shifted too, and he'd do something about it if he had enough energy to even turn his head, but he doesn't.

But Stiles knows him, and knows what the heat in his pointed ears means, and huffs a quiet laugh.

"Just let it all hang out, wolf man, you know I love it."

And from the decidedly squelchy feeling where they're still tightly connected, it's obvious he's not lying, even if Derek could muster up the concentration to listen to his heart. Which he can't. Won't. Knows he won't have to.

 

End.

 


End file.
